


I Will Love You Monday (Kill You Thursday)

by Hecate



Category: Misfits
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecate/pseuds/Hecate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A smile, a few words, that's all it takes and Simon orbits around her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Love You Monday (Kill You Thursday)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. Title is taken from Aura Dione's "I Will Love You Monday"

Tony is dead and Simon is kissing her. 

The world breaks for seconds.

[*+++*]

"Maybe he left," they tell her and Sally knows what they mean. _Maybe he left you._ But he didn't.

He wouldn't. 

They were meant to be and Sally doesn't care how stupid that sounds, how it takes away the years and turns her into a rather stupid teenage girl that still believes in true love. But Tony is gone, no matter what she says and thinks, and something inside of her is broken. 

(He wanted to marry her.)

Something under her skin is fractured and crazy now, focused in a sharp way, cutting the people around her. She thinks she deserves this, the right to be mean, to be hard, because Tony just vanished and she ... 

This is not how things are supposed to be, this is wrong. She'll find out what has happened. She'll find Tony.

They will get their happy end.

(She thinks she might be lying to herself.)

Sally doesn't trust the group Tony took care of, the group she takes care of now. Something about them isn't right, the way they look at each other, huddle together at times. Not like friends, it's nothing easy like that. It's hard and tensed and unyielding, and it tells her that they're lying. About Tony, about everything.

'A conspiracy,' she thinks. And laughs. Stares at them when they're not watching, takes them in. 

Calculates.

She needs to reach them, needs to reach inside their tight group and rip something out of it, something, someone who will give her the answers she needs. And Simon is an easy target.

(Simon is different.)

A smile, a few words, that's all it takes and Simon orbits around her. It scares her in a way she can't quite explain, can't understand. Not yet, maybe never. She just feels it, curled together in the pit of her stomach and at the back of her mind. A new kind of fear, and it's all about him. 

Too much is about Simon these days, her plans and intentions wrapping around the memories she has of Tony, choking the colour out of them until they become washed out like old photographs. And she is fading with them.

Sometimes she thinks that she really wants to help Simon. 

She wants to take them all down, these kids with their easy smiles and even easier cruelty. 

She wants Tony back. 

World peace, too, while she's at it. 

(She knows Tony won't come back.)

When Simon asks her out, she almost laughs into his face.

(He thinks she's lonely.)

It's silly, really. One virtual lie was all it took for him to think he's the kind of person she would choose to be with. That strange little boy making a move on her as if she's like them, another sad excuse, another fucked up life. She isn't.

(She is. Lonely and everything else.)

She plays her part, says yes when she shouldn't; rules and obligations just lines in the sand and she leaves them behind so easily. And he falls for her hesitation and the way she looks at him while he talks, falls for her laughter and her hand in his.

She suddenly knows she's the first one that ever did that, who listened to him and laughed with him, and it hurts in some strange way. She pushes the feeling away, stares herself down in the mirror, forces the voices inside her head into silence. 

Simon doesn't matter.

(He does.)

Simon kisses her in the evening and she's too stunned to stop him, kisses him back for seconds, Tony evaporating under those shy lips. A splinter of her past and love and future screams inside of her but she doesn't listen, not until the scream turns into a word, a name. _Tony._

Tony is gone. 

She pushes Simon away and she's still too careful with him. 

(He's not the one who is breaking.)

He leaves when she asks him to, but his presence stays with her through the evening. She dreams of him later, dreams of them naked; her skin under his hands. Simon with his strange eyes, his face always lonely, always stunned by life, and she reaches out for him. In her dream, Tony is a shadow watching and she closes her eyes against him, opening herself to the boy she doesn't love.

She wakes wet and needy, her body still shaking with the memories of the dream. She showers until her skin burns, until everything hurts, and she whispers Tony's name into the empty bathroom.

The mirror shows her nothing until she wipes it clean, and for seconds she sees Simon standing behind her. She whirls around. 

She's alone.

She drinks bitter coffee and silently promises the empty cup that today is the day. She'll find out the truth. Even if it kills her.

Simon is wide-eyed under her touch a few hours later, her casual words enough to make him shake and stare and it is a triumph of sorts. Bitter and unwanted but she keeps it anyway, a crude trophy of a war she chose to fight in the name of the man she lost. 

She shakes it off and waits until they're alone again, until she beckons him closer and their lips meet for a second time.

It feels like betrayal.

(She doesn't know who she's betraying.)

Something inside of her is greedy - something wild and empty and unfamiliar - and it leaves her shaking in the kiss she started. It's wrong, too wrong to take, and she needs control, needs to be another woman. The woman she was with Tony - no, not her. That woman was happy and good, unable to kiss a teenage offender to find the truth he hides. 

(That woman was unable to fall, just a little, and she's falling now.)

Under Simon's hands, she's someone different. Scary and needy and ruthless, and she hears the drums of war beneath her skin, her pulse urging her into his hands, and she's terribly alive for seconds.

But it ends, she ends it. Sends Simon away. She's got a mission to remember.

She walks away with Simon's mobile phone clutched in her hands, a holy grail of cheap plastic and short videos, and she knows she carries the truth within it. Her steps guide her to the bathroom, her hands shaking, her thoughts numb but racing. Then, the world is too bright around her, neon bulbs sending their dead light into the room, the mirror reflecting the mask she's wearing. 

(She looks just like herself. It scares her.)

She's shaking when she listens to the video, shaking to Nathan's smug voice, and she hates him, hates them all. The phone's screen seems too small for the truth, Nathan's voice so tinny, and it feels like the cheapest joke ever, Tony's death a little game they played, hardly important and without consequences.

She wonders where she was when they killed Tony, when Tony went away and didn't come back. She thinks he must have thought of her, just for seconds.

Someone is watching her.

(She thinks it might be Tony. It isn't.)

Simon looks strange when he's angry, utterly alien, his eyes on her in a new way, his voice sharp and shaking. And under his words she's brittle, and she's breaking all over again, tiny splinters of herself like glass shining on the tiles. Splinters like knives, weapons to cut him into pieces. 

She wants to kill him. 

Tony is dead and Simon isn't, and she wants to kill him, wants to wipe away the way she felt when Simon kissed her and all the ways she wanted him. 

(She still wants him.)

His face is soft and warm under her touch, and he looks so lonely again. She whispers promises and pleas and stamps on the parts of her that mean these words, plays the woman who smiles at Simon easily.

She hurts him. Again.

(She has stopped counting.)

She runs.

[*+++*]

Simon stands in front of her and she's slipping. Falling.

Tony is dead.

The world breaks.


End file.
